


Tightrope

by And_all_the_other_buns



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Romance, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/And_all_the_other_buns/pseuds/And_all_the_other_buns
Summary: Dating is not easy for Armand, 523 years old but not yet legal.A short drabble exploring a particular difficulty for a vampire trapped at the end of adolescence.
Relationships: Armand/Marius de Romanus
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	Tightrope

**Author's Note:**

> References to mortal Armand and by that extent references to underage sex. Underage is a warning tag for a reason. Kids, don't get a middle aged vampiric sugar daddy if you're still getting a report card and all that, blah blah. Read fictional vampiric romance instead.

Dating was not as simple a matter for Armand as it was for others. Louis and Lestat could go out at a whim with no effort or worry, walking hand in hand along piers or through parks under moonlight. It was an enlightened time, they had little to fear for harassment of their sex, as though any uppity mortal could so much as throw Lestat a sour look. If the pair were both in good spirits, they could stay out a whole night, taking in music and shopping for the most sickenly domestic trinkets 

For Armand, this was a luxury not afforded to him, not unless he up and decided to find a high schooler to date like those modern vampire movies thought he should. But no, his lovers were nearly and more than twice his apparent age, and wanting any sort of romantic excursion with them was...difficult. 

Especially with Marius. God in Heaven was it a trying ordeal to have a night out with Marius. All the boy wanted was an evening once in a while to try this "bonding" thing, to "work on interpersonal skills" and "process trauma through social engagement" as Fareed put it. Whatever the hell that meant; Armand called it trying to have a real fucking relationship with Marius for the first time in 521 years, but it was...not easy.

Times had changed since the Renaissance. 17 was somehow both dreadfully older and shamefully younger than it used to be. Boys his age, born after the turn of the millennium, they were tall, either lanky or built solid and strong, they had hair on their lips and chests where Armand had some beneath his arms and between his legs and not much else to speak of. Yes, of course, a fair few were still baby faced and small, but more often than not they were assured of being late bloomers, of catching up soon. Armand wasn't going to be doing any catch up. He likely would have grown no taller, but a few years could have added bulk to his frame or a man's countenance to his face.

These children were working already, same as his day for most, they were pressed into anxiety about their schooling and careers, not so unlike a Venetian boy reaching manhood. And yet like him, they too spent their hours at play, in brutal sports or skate parks or in clusters around video screens.

But if there was one modern sensibility that had changed between his own adolescence and these new years, it was that teenage boys should not be in the romantic company of adults.

And Armand understood this and knew it to be sensible. He'd long learned about brain development and growth, he'd lived throughout the world and knew how ideas of propriety changed decade to decade, country to country. In his world, in his Italy of centuries past, such notions didn't exist in the same regard, not in the same way. He held many grudges and slights against his Master, but taking him to bed was not among them. It was a different world, they were different people with different ideals of what was good and loving and moral, even before the whole mess of vampirism got mixed in.

He just wished he could convey this to the well meaning strangers who stared at then in cafes.

Armand could feel their concern, seeing this child leaning close to a man easily double his age. They stared, usually out of the corners of their eyes, though some more pointedly. Worrisome middle aged women who likely had children Armand's age, baristas with tattoos up their arms and lime green hair, grandpa's in tweed coats, all passed their silent judgements their way, furitivly trying to gauge whether or not the redheaded boy was legal yet.

Once, Armand had found himself approached in the hallway to the public men's washroom at an outdoor festival, by a man probably twice his size, American, leather clad and bearded, who offered to take Marius behind the game booths and kick his ass, take Armand to a shelter for the night if he needed, and it took everything he had to not burst out in laughter. This man was surely frightening to any mortal, but he wouldn't be able to lay a scratch on his master.

A trick was the only way to escape that one, though he was moved by the concern of strangers. Surely there would be a time such help was needed, but Armand was not the one.

Of course it was easiest to avoid the issue all together, walk with hands in pockets, sit across from one another rather than beside. Father and son, most would think, and this was the kinder option, the one that drew the least concern and the least attention.

But it also fucking hurt.

Armand loved Marius. Maybe he shouldn't, still. God knows he had enough reasons not to. But the centuries did nothing to erase his three years in Italy, it did nothing to change the fact that Marius rescued him out of slavery and a painful death, that for three years the world was beauty and passion and love. And that maybe, with time, with screaming matches and sobbing fits and talks that pressed till the first rays of dawn, with effort and sacrifice, they could have something like that again. Both were willing to try, at least, and with that 'try' came 'want' and Armand wanted the experience of /dating/, damn it! He had it with Daniel, yes, but Daniel was 32 and barely looked it, they rarely got glares, but Marius was 40 and exuded power and control to a frightful degree. Even through his stone mask and marble skin there were the hints of lines around his eyes and near his mouth, especially after he fed, and he was so much taller than Armand…

He just wanted the freedom of sitting in the back of a coffee shop, kissing his lover, curled up against his chest as they listened to the peefomer on stage. He wanted to hold hot cups of coffee and enjoy the smell, he wanted Marius' hands over his own. He just wanted these little slices, that's all.

And so, he had to get creative. He prefered his hair long, and knew Marius did too, but his lush curls could drag his age down to, as Lestat liked to say, "Chris Hansen" levels, and he had no desire to either get someone up in Mariuses face or cause undo stress to mortals, so he cut it most nights they went out, or at least tucked it up into a cap. Heeled boots were also invaluable, adding a couple inches to his height. A tailored coat with eppaulettes broadened his shoulders, or a hoodie prominently featuring the mascot for the local college. He could pass for 18, with little effort, and then it just looked odd instead of worrisome.

Of course the Coven had their own thoughts on the topic, especially Lestat, which is how Marius learned the term "Sugar Daddy." Which is also how Armand and Lestat both got a 45 minute lecture after tearing one another apart.

Fuck Lestat, he was the last thing Armand wanted to think about right now. 

In heels, Armand came just about to Marius' chin; with long coats, their linked hands were almost hidden between them. Stay to the sides of the walkways, they knew how to work this, they were not so callous or clueless. 

Coffee shops were a favorite for the pair, little hole in the wall businesses, without flashing chain signs in the window. Marius loved the local artwork that often hung on the walls, taking an appreciation for the surrealist illustrations or watercolor nudes. On the right nights there would often be someone in a corner underneath track lights with a guitar or mandolin, singing with varying degrees of talent. The sound itself was often of little consequence; these were mortals with a passion, and their ears could hear the love poured into their bows or strings or flutes, even if the notes sometimes hit sour.

And these shops were often dark, that was the important thing. Dark, busy, with a riot of posters and banners on the wall. So easy to find an out of the way table, order a cup of coffee or herbal tea with a pleasant smell, warm their hands and sit close. Turn his face, hide behind shaggy hair or an upturned collar, don't let the patrons see his doe eyes or his soft, boyish cheeks. Don't let anyone look too close at the creases of Marius' eyes, or how the wrong lights brought out the silver in his blonde hair. Don't see the years between them; they're nothing but an illusion to mortal eyes, the truth being incomprehensible to any outside their kind.

Once he could unwind though, once he felt safe, once he was fairly sure he wasn't traumatizing any innocent humans nearby, Armand lived for these nights. A few hours to try to not argue, to leave their problems at home. Home and room and bed were for their fights, for slamming hardback books on tables, highlighted and annotated, ammunition for one another's riots. Home was for Armand's blood tears as he asked for the 12th time why Master abandoned him in Paris, only begining to accept that there was no good answer and never would be, only beginning to accept that Master's apologies might have to be enough. Safe behind their own doors, Marius could listen to lectures on psychology, trauma, cult behavior and religious zealotry, saying with actions what he couldn't with words; that he made mistakes that could never be atoned for, that his child's scars were deep and tender still. Away from public eyes they could rip at wrists and throat's, playing a game the rest of the coven would not approve of, Armand on his knees, begging for pain, Marius only too happy to be the object of that devotion. Maybe Fareed would say that wasn't good for Armand, maybe Louis would cite something about feeding into Marius' god complex. It didn't matter, it wasn't anyone else's business, what was done at home.

Armand sighed, leaning closer to Master, and let him bring his arm around his narrow shoulders. Warm, safe, like being tucked into their bed in Venice, beneath red velvet and silk. Maybe wool coats and polyester sweat shirts didn't have the same luxurious qualities, but that didn't matter. Armand didn't fall in love with Master's wealth, but with his passions and his kindness and his rages and his stubborn attitude and his gentle hands and vicious touch. 

Careful brown eyes kept a look out at their fellow patrons, but nobody paid them any mind. It was a Friday night, the place was near full, voices loud over the grind of coffee beans and milk steamers and whatever other bits of machines made those frothy concoctions Armand sometimes longed to taste. Nobody paid any attention to the mismatched couple at the tiny round table beneath an advertisement for goats milk soap. 

Closer still, Armand pressed his body as near to Master's as he could, lying his small hand atop his thigh beneath the folds of his coat. He could hear Marius let out a small breath of laughter, and let his hand slide up his arm to stroke Armand's cheek with his thumb.

"Cold, my love?" He asked gently, and Armand shrugged.

"Just wanted to be closer."

"Hm. Any closer and we will have to go home, my cherub," he teased, just a ghost of flirtatious lust tickling Armand's ear, but he shook his head. It took far too much effort to make it out of the house to just turn around and go home by 11!

Instead, he tucked his head down against Master's shoulder, letting himself be held and soothed and adored for as long as propriety would allow, before worried eyes pushed them apart, before the rages of mood swings made him hate the man again or Marius forgot himself and failed to mind his words. For now, they could be a couple, they could be in love.

For now.

Dating was not a simple matter for Armand.


End file.
